


Tonight We Shall Save Your Son

by SoulOfSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulOfSnow/pseuds/SoulOfSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melisandre's powers are both desired and loathed by many of Stannis's men. But when it comes to getting something they want, even the most honorable man will turn to her for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halo of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre comes to Davos upon his request, but already he begins to sense she has the true power between them

Davos stood among the ashes of the Seven that had been burned the night before. Smoke still rose from the scatter of ash still hot enough to burn, like those one might find in the hearth of his chamber come the morning. But there was nothing welcoming about their warmth, instead they stood as a reminder of the damage they had done. _We have turned our backs on the Gods, and we will suffer for it_. It would not do to voice his fears before his King; Stannis was less likely than most to listen. He would simply grind his teeth and muse over his table, carved intricately into the map of Westeros and when Davos was done, he’d dismiss him and his woes.

Instead, Davos took the honourable route, though it made his skin crawl to consider such a task. _Has being honourable always been so—unnatural to me?_ Once Davos considered the life of piracy a necessary flaunt of the rules, especially if he were to feed eight hungry mouths. His sons were only just of age to help him plunder the sea and shore alike, and his wife was never one for taking from others, though she lived comfortably from the treasures of such a trade. Since his knighthood however, his honour had increased tenfold though he could not explain why. _I would do anything for my King. Anything and then some_.

She came to him at the time he had requested, though he could sense her presence long before she arrived. The burning ash grew brighter and the smoke rose higher, spindly grey fingers clawing at the clouds above them.

  
“Lord Davos,” She purred, standing just outside of the circle of burned debris. “The night is—…”

  
“…dark and full of terrors, I know.” Davos was beginning to grow loathsome of her prayers.

  
“The night is a strange time to meet, my lord.” She smiled at him, as though mocking his misinterpretation. Melisandre wore a long scarlet dress cinched at the waist with a thin belt of enamelled bronze that only flattered her curved figure more. Waves of long red hair whipped and snapped like a banner in the wind; flames licking up the salt air. The heat from the priestess was stifling and uncomfortable. For one moment, Davos allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to touch her pale skin and _feel_ the warmth oozing from her pores. He shivered.

  
“Tell me, Melisandre—what do _you_ stand to achieve by having King Stannis take the Iron Throne?” Davos rested his hand on the hilt of his sword; the other fondled the pouch around his neck for assurance. _No, don’t do that. Any sign of weakness and the red woman will pounce._ He quickly dropped his hand.

  
“Stannis Baratheon is Azor Ahai; the chosen one who will lead us out of the darkness. Without his success, we will be cast to the shadows for eternity.” Though her words carried much despair, Melisandre smiled beautifully and clasped her hands together.

  
Davos frowned. “Is that what you see in your fires, my lady?” The ruby at the woman’s throat began to pulsate, the red light within growing brighter and brighter until it was all he could do not to turn away and shield his eyes.

  
“I see much and more in my fires, Lord Davos.” Melisandre had to raise her voice to be heard over the roaring waves. A storm was coming, and the ocean was beginning to express its displeasure, spewing over the rocks behind him and swallowing up the grey sandy shore. Plumes of ash began to swirl around him as the wind picked up a little, voicing its discomfort also. But none felt less at ease than Davos.

  
“Aye, you see things, mayhaps. But could it be that you read them wrong?” Davos meant to slight the red woman as she had earlier, but she only smiled more, releasing her hands and lifting them. Suddenly, the ash that encircled him ignited once more. The flames rose so high Davos could not see a thing, and the heat was unbearable.

  
“You tell me, Lord Davos.” Melisandre sang, though she could not be seen through the wall of fire. Davos lifted an arm across his forehead to shield his eyes, but salty tears ran down his cheeks nonetheless, his eyes straining at the intensity of the heat. The smell was that of burning wood; earthy and thick—but another smell lingered there too. _Burning… people burning._ Davos closed his eyes, but the images danced through his mind as clear as day. He could hear the screams, the sound of roaring flames and everything was red. Everything was dead. The sea ran pink with blood, and the sky was black with smoke. When Davos opened his eyes—she was there.

  
“You saw them, didn’t you Lord Davos?” They stood mere inches apart; her breath was as hot as the fires that surrounded them. _How did she cross the flames and not burn? Why didn’t she burn? Why won’t she burn? Why can’t she just_ burn _?_ Davos thought to step back, but the flames at his back were already whispering their threats at his cloak.

  
“I saw nothing but flames.”

  
“Exactly,” She said, her voice hushed and gentle. “The flames are coming for you, Lord Davos. I have seen them in my fires and now you have, too.”  
Davos looked around quickly to prevent his eyes from watering further. The fire had grown taller to such a point he could not see the end of the flames. _She means to burn me alive here_.

  
“I saw flames, my lady, because that is exactly what we are surrounded by.” Davos would not break.

  
Melisandre laughed. “Quite,” Stepping back, the red priestess looked passed the onion knight and towards the fires. All at once her hair lifted from her shoulders and spread like the wings of an eagle in a thousand directions, framing her face in a halo of blood. When her eyes closed and her lip parted, the flames fell away into nothing, and only ash remained. “Let me tell you something, Lord Davos. I have seen the pain you will suffer in due course, and I weep for you, truly. But I can also help you.”

  
Davos wiped the dampness from his cheeks and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. “It was my faith that helped me, Melisandre. And we have turned away from them on your command.” Davos had never been one for bitterness, but he had much and more in regards to this woman.

  
Melisandre circled him slowly, and wherever she went the heat of the fires that had once kissed his skin returned, only this time it was a biting pain instead of a gradual one. “Seven Gods for seven sons.”

  
“And each will protect one of my boys.”

  
“The Maiden does not protect boys, so who is looking after young Maric?” The mere mention of his son’s name on that red woman’s lips made Davos clench his teeth in distain. _No weakness, smuggler. Show no weakness._

 __  
“The Warrior protects them all in battle, and the Smith when trading at sea.” Davos replied, just as Melisandre stopped full circle to stand before him once more, though not as close. This time she was not smiling.

  
“No, Lord Davos—the night _is_ dark and will be full of many terrors for your sons. It is the Lord of Light; R’hllor, who will save their souls.” She smiled again then, and stepped dangerously close, her scarlet eyes shining in her own light. “Of course, they cannot be saved.”

  
Davos recoiled, reaching once more for his sword. “What did you say?”

  
“The Lord of Light will take what he wants and I cannot prevent him.” She shrugged languidly and looked to the ground. “But I can help you save another. I can save your boy Devan from unspeakable pain, Lord Davos.” Melisandre smiled and reached to touch his cheek, but Davos shied away.

  
“You’re lying, red witch.” He turned his head and spat into the ash by his feet.

  
“Am I?” Melisandre turned the palms of her hands to the sky and the debris around them began to ignite. “Shall I let you see for yourself, Lord Davos? I must warn you, the sound of Devan screaming in terror was not easy for me to witness. I should think you would suffer his howls of suffering even more so than I.” There was an air of taunting in her tone, and the way her terrible red eyes lit up at the idea was sickening. Davos could taste the revulsion on his tongue. But he believed her. _Why would she lie about Devan? The boy is young and half mad with love for her._ It was as though she sensed his trust, and closed her fingers into her palms, killing the flames. This time her smile was kind, and strangely reassuring. She took his stunted hand and for a moment Davos thought she might burn right through the tough leather fabric with her heat.

 

“Come, Lord Davos. Tonight we shall save your son.”


	2. Of His Own Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos joins Melisandre in her chambers, where he is the victim of her terrible charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still from Davos's perspective, and again I dragged it out because I just couldn't help myself, and the sex is only just beginning towards the end of this chapter. I think I'm going to continue it passed Davos and Melisandre's first encounter, but we shall see!

Melisandre had been given chambers cast off from much of the rest of the guest rooms and overlooking the raging ocean in the most envious view Davos had seen in some time. _Still, nothing beats riding those waves, and feeling their turmoil beneath your oars, with the ferocity of the wind in your sails._ Davos stood in the doorway as Melisandre slipped inside. It was quite a stark comparison between this and his own chambers; even the King did not have a room as lavish as the red woman’s. The large bed was solid oak with intricately carved scrollwork running along the frame and up the four tall posts. Scarlet frills hung from the canopy like blood dripping onto the violent red bed sheets. The stone floor was covered in fresh rushes, and on the other side of the room, the maids had laid out a fine rug the colour of a rich Dornish Red. The tapestry that hung along the far wall was that of swirling reds and oranges and what once might have been the brightest yellow, but had faded over time into dull beige. The drapes were crimson coloured and tickled the floor with the odd loose thread. The small table matched the nightstand and were of a similar oak as the bed, but it was the hearth that took the prize as the most awe-inspiring piece Melisandre owned. It was large and black and round and the fire that burned within roared with intensity in a way a hearth fire never should. As Melisandre swept passed it, the flames leapt into the air in a desperate attempt to reach her, like a child pulling at its mother’s skirts for attention. She muttered something in her foreign tongue and closed the drapes across the window with the view of the sea. _Even now, she denies me what I yearn for_.

  
“Come inside and warm yourself by my hearth, Lord Davos.” She beckoned him inside by extending her hand to him. Davos declined the offer and stepped within her walls of his own accord. _Remember that, smuggler; you entered willingly_. The room was stiflingly hot, and Melisandre’s presence did nothing to aid the increasing warmth that began to suffocate him in his cloak and padded surcoat. With one finger he tugged at his collar as Melisandre swept passed him to close the door. Standing between him and his only exit, she offered him refreshment. “I have the finest Dornish Red, Lord Davos.” Again he refused her, politely raising his hand when she thrust a cup in his direction. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and his hair was damp with perspiration. Davos watched Melisandre drain her cup of wine swiftly. The sound of her teeth scraping lightly on the silver rim as she drank made the room seem suddenly hotter. Davos cleared his throat and looked away from the terrible red priestess. “You look uncomfortable, Lord Davos.” Her words rang through his ears and caused a funny stirring in the pit of his stomach, making his skin feel even hotter. _She’s controlling me,_ he realised, but it was too late to stop the impossible heat that was choking him from the inside out. He almost welcomed her deft fingers unclasping his cloak and letting it drop, heavy with salt and sea and memories to the floor. Melisandre placed a hand on his cheek, but Davos could barely stand her touch. She was burning like her fires, singeing his skin with her touch. Davos stepped away towards the window. He threw back the drapes and pushed and pushed until the rusted clasps gave way and the night air came hurling towards him; howling and crying and--

  
“Screaming!” Davos covered his ears at the terrifying sound of a child’s scream, carried by the wind into the woman’s chamber.

  
“Yes, Lord Davos.” She exclaimed, standing behind him “Devan’s screams of terror made me weep too.” A gentle finger brushed away the tear that ran unbidden down Davos’s cheek.  

  
“My boy…” He heard himself whisper, though the screams drowned him out. Melisandre stepped forward and forced the window shut. The silence was deafening. _My boy._

 __  
“Do you see now?” She turned to him, and there was pain in her red eyes. “Do you see why we must save him?” _What would make him scream like that?_ There had beensuch a time that Davos would answer his question with a single name: _Melisandre_. But now she had trapped him in such a vice that he found it impossible to wriggle free. She was his only option and the loss of any and all power was crippling. Davos pulled out a chair from the oak table and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his gloved palms.

Two firm hands squeezed his shoulders, and Melisandre leant down until her lips gently brushed down over Davos’s right ear. “You would never want anything to happen to your son.” She whispered, her breath tickling him as she spoke.

  
“Never.” Davos could never imagine harm coming to any of his boys; he was their father and it was his role to protect them. That was what hurt him the most—having to give that role, that _right_ to Melisandre.

  
“Then come to me, Lord Davos.” Melisandre stepped away and towards the bed, her voice as soft as a cat’s purrs “Come to me and show me you want to save your son.” Davos was on his feet before she could finish her sentence. Of course he wanted to save Devan; she was foolish to think he would not. _Or was that her ploy all along? You fool, smuggler—she’s playing you for a fool_. The fire in the hearth crackled, taunting him as Davos removed his gloves. Melisandre leaned against one of the bed posts, her eyes never leaving him for a second. He peeled away the leather and opened and closed his fingers. Then pulled off the other and revealed his shortened digits. Melisandre smiled and took his stunted hand in hers, pulling him close until they were as they had been in the circle of fire. She brought the hand up to her lips, watching Davos closely as she softly kissed each stump, taking the longest, the middle finger in her mouth and sucking lightly until Davos closed his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. She ran her hands down his surcoat, stopping for a moment over his chest and smiled. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode, and her recognition of this only made it worse. The heat between them was beginning to be as unbearable as the warmth in the room—Davos thought he might die of overexposure to such extreme temperatures. Her fingers deftly unbuckled his sword belt, _my last piece of protection_ , and let it clatter to the floor. Only when her fingers moved further south did Davos snatch her wrist with his good hand.

  
“No.” He said; firm but quiet, and the priestess nodded obediently. Instead she ran them back over his hips and to the ties of his surcoat, making short work of the lacing and helping Davos discard the garment with his cloak. Beneath, his white shirt was sodden with sweat, and for one fraction of a second Davos felt as though he should be embarrassed. _Your wife doesn’t mind it, smuggler. Why does it matter that the red witch thinks_? But it did, and Davos could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks when Melisandre took her hands away and regarded him a moment. Her eyes were unreadable, but seemed a darker red than before. This was not the red for danger, but rather the red for passion. It felt as though she were testing him when at last Melisandre unfastened her own cloak; trying to see how far he’d go for his son. _I will do anything for my son, red witch. Even you_. His thoughts turned to his lovely wife, Marya—so far away at Cape Wrath. He wandered if she ever thought of him the way he’d sometimes imagine her; naked as her name day and beckoning him to their chambers with a sweet and playful smile. Marya was a wonderful woman and an eager lover—seven sons proved that true. Davos could hear her voice calling his name, soft a whisper and yet as bright and cheerful as she always was.

  
“Davos.” So sweet and honest and never with any hint of displeasure.

  
“Davos.” The only woman he could ever love, truly and openly.

  
“Davos.” That was not Marya’s voice. Davos realised only then that Melisandre was beckoning him closer to her, his name escaping her lips like a dirty secret. He could sense her desire now, wanting to have him pressed against her in his arms. But he couldn’t move. Had fear truly enveloped him, as well as this impossible heat? Davos could only choke out a strangled cough in reply. He had shown enough weakness in such a response that Melisandre’s boldness grew, and her hands were soon fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Her eyes met his and she unlaced the final ties painfully slowly, fingers brushing over the growing bulge that aided the laces in loosening in her hands. He swallowed hard and choked back another pained protest. She was melting him, and she would have him. When at last she pulled the front of his breeches down, his cock sprang free as hard a rock, a rivulet of pre-come already forming on the tip. Melisandre seemed to marvel at the sight, her hands remaining close, but not so close there seemed any danger of her touching it. They had not touched one another anywhere else, and it would not do to end her game so easily. She bit her lip and returned her gaze to the onion knight’s dark brown eyes, her lips then parted slowly as she drew closer. The smell of wine on her tongue mingled with her hot breath could have knocked Davos down, if he were not stuck— motionless and vulnerable. He tried to think of Marya, to focus on her purity and kind heart. But in his mind, Marya melted in Melisandre’s fires, and everything went black.


	3. Father and Son and Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos attempts one final time to curb Melisandre's desires, but her revelation proves too much for him to turn back on his duty as a father.

Hours seemed to pass before Davos felt her lips brush across his, hot and soft and almost— _wanted_. _No,_ he told himself; _you do not want this woman, you need her help, and that is all smuggler, that is all_. Melisandre rested her hands on his shoulders and pushed her mouth against his a fraction harder, but never more. The cool bronze belt around her waist brushed the tip of his throbbing member, and it was all Davos could do to stifle a moan. His lips parted and for one moment he feared she’d take that as an invitation to plunge her tongue into his mouth. But to his surprise she drew back, filling his view with red; red hair and scarlet eyes that watched him tentatively; if she were capable of such a look beneath a flutter of dark red lashes.

  
“There are many ways we can save your son, Lord Davos. How might we stop this evil?” Her desire was strong, and she seemed to be fighting to restrain herself from kissing him again, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly and her breath a touch more laboured than before.

  
Davos tensed his shoulders and looked down upon the fiery woman. “As quickly and honourably as possible, my lady” She laughed at that, and her eyes grew wide.One hand trailed down his sodden shirt, fingers like the legs of a spider, inching closer and closer to his waist, and then once they had reached their destination she slowly un-tucked the fabric from his unlaced breeches. He noticed how careful Melisandre was not to touch his cock, which seemed to yearn for the caress of her hands as much as the fire in her hearth had when she stepped passed it to close the drapes. Davos turned to look that way now, but the window was shut and the crimson curtain was pulled once more. What Davos could not see, he could still hear; the storm was beginning to take form across the raging ocean and would soon pummel Dragonstone with violent fervour. Melisandre lifted the shirt over his head and tossed the sweaty garment to the floor. Fine wisps of hair clung to his chest, riddled with beads of sweat. Melisandre rang her fingers across them all, soaking them up like the sun’s rays radiated from her fingers. She was certainly hot enough, and each touch brought more painful burns across his skin. It hurt to be touched by Melisandre of Asshai—yet the more she did so the more Davos felt his resolve crumble, giving way for an intense need to feel her touch again. 

 

“We cannot rush Devan’s rescue,” Melisandre rose up on her toes and whispered in his ear. She planted a hot kiss on his lobe, and her teeth scraped the flesh so light Davos thought he had imagined it. “Close your eyes, Davos.”

  
He did as she bid him, a drop of sweat running into his lashes as he relaxed his furrowed brow.

  
“Yes…” She hissed, and this time she definitely bit his earlobe, caressing the skin between her front teeth. “Close your eyes and call me Marya.” Davos eyes snapped open and he shoved Melisandre away, suddenly able to move again. She fell against the bedpost with a gasp as the wind was knocked from her lungs. Davos wrapped the fingers of his good hand in her hair and yanked her head back, pushing against her with a knee between her legs.

  
“Don’t you _ever_ mention my wife again, red witch.” He seethed, their faces close enough that he could smell the flicker of fear that swept through her body and was released with a slight shiver. He felt that too, and his cock, now pressed hard against her thigh, stirred once more.

  
“I only meant to be more accommodating to your honour, Lord Davos.” She purred, and her smile had returned.

  
Davos released her hair and stepped back. “Then end this now and save my son.”

  
“I can’t.”

  
“Has this all been for nothing? What sort of sick game does your God require you play?” Davos felt sickened, and suddenly cooler. _She’s losing her grip on me, I can sense it._ Melisandre could too, and she stepped forward from the post.

  
“This is not a game, Lord Davos. Must I show you?” She waited for Davos to sheath his aching member back in his breeches and turned him to her hearth. The fire danced before him, impatient to do its mother’s bidding. Melisandre moved across to the other side of the room and stood adjacent to him; the hearth between them both.

 

A few moments later, the flames took to the roof of her chambers and spiralled around one another in a fight to be the tallest. The highest point touched the stone ceiling and would no doubt leave a blackened mark come morning. Melisandre was no longer visible to Davos, but her voice rang through him like a knife twisting in his stomach as she chanted. Heat and smoke filled the room and everything around them turned first to grey, and then to black. Davos’s bare chest screamed in pain, but there was no way of escaping the intolerable heat. He dared to open his eyes and face the flames, terrified his eyeballs would melt in their sockets and weep down his cheeks. He blinked back tears as best he could, but nothing came to him. The fire roared and spat at him, singeing his peppered beard, but still nothing was shown.

  
“Melisandre? I see nothing in your flames.” He called to the red priestess, but she gave no reply. “My lady, are you there?” Suddenly everything dropped. The fire fell into nothingness and the room returned to the way it had once been. But Melisandre was not there, instead a terrified Devan stood in her place, sniffling with his arms wrapped around him. _My boy!_

 __  
“Devan, son—are you alright?” The very second Davos stepped forward, Devan’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and he let out the most blood-curdling scream the onion knight had ever heard. It was worse than a scream of terror; it was mangled with pain and meshed with unbelievable horror. A gentle hand landed on Davos’s shoulder before he could gather the boy in his arms and comfort him.

  
“Do you see him, Lord Davos?” Melisandre’s voice was thick with a sort of sadness he never thought she possessed. _Have I truly been thinking of this woman as so inhuman?_ Is _she human?_

 __  
“I- I see him… but I don’t understand--…” Before Davos could reiterate his concerns, Melisandre stepped between father and son and hearth and filled Davos’s senses with the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon and _her_. His lust was almost stronger than his desire to help his child, and that frightened him. When her lips parted once more and her hair spread around her, twisting like the flames of her fire, Devan was gone, and only she remained.

  
“I didn’t want you to see what I have seen, Lord Davos.” Her eyes had a sorrowful look to them. When she walked over to the table and rested a hand on the oak, Davos saw her usual fire had returned in the hearth. “I sense your mistrust, and it saddens me. It hurts me, Lord Davos, that I must show you such terrible things.” _Why is he screaming like that? Why is he crying and why is no one there to comfort him? Where are you smuggler? You better not be with this witch_.

  
“I want to see Devan, Melisandre. I want to see my son _now_.”

  
“You need only walk down the hall and see him fast asleep in his bed, Lord Davos.” Davos made no move to leave. She liked that. Melisandre stepped closer and embraced him despite his clammy skin. “Let us save your boy, Lord Davos. I do not wish to see him suffer, either.” _She doesn’t?_ Davos relaxed in her arms and suddenly her heat became as intoxicating as it once had been. He cupped her face and kissed her—tenuously at first, and then the sound of the oncoming storm through the window beckoned him to match its intensity. Her lips parted easily beneath his, and his crushing embrace became deeper and softer. Melisandre’s hands rested in the hairs that covered his chest, burning her handprints on his skin. But when she moved them down to unlace his breeches again, he tensed and broke away.

  
“For Devan.” She whispered against his lips, revealing his cock to the elements once more. This time his breeches fell to his knees, and pushing her to the bed was awkward and difficult. _It’s not the breeches causing that, smuggler—this is wrong_.

Melisandre fell against the silk sheets, bringing the knight down with her, kissing his neck as light as a feather. Davos ran a cautious hand from her knee slowly up her thigh, gathering the scarlet skirts of her dress with his fingers. _Even her smallclothes are red!_ Davos couldn’t help but laugh at that little find; what did he expect? Davos knelt before her and slowly pulled down her smallclothes, kissing one knee as it bent up to rest against his chest. Even his stunted fingers made deft work of revealing her sex, guarded by fiery red hair and already glistening wet with desire. Davos gently lifted her legs apart and ran his hand along the inside of her thigh. He wriggled off the rest of his breeches and shifted into a sturdier position.

  
“No,” Melisandre lifted up on one elbow, pressing her hand against his chest. He winced at her heat and looked at her questioningly. She was utterly unreadable. Her long red hair fell off her shoulders, save for a few strands that clung to her face. Her hand ran up his chest and rested on his shoulder. The pressure she applied told him everything he wanted. He glanced at her cunt and back into her red eyes. “Please.” The shock of hearing that word escape her lips and with such an air of desperation almost floored him. Davos hesitated a moment, and then nodded, sliding back off the bed and drawing her to the edge until her toes almost touched the rushes. He got to his knees and looked up at her. She smiled at him and licked her lips. _Please_ , he heard her say in his mind— _she wants you, smuggler. Take her._


	4. The Stronger Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos is torn between ending the night quickly, and relishing in his duty. Melisandre makes the decision hard, but still he tries to remember why he is here.

His ministrations were slow and unpractised at first; he and Marya rarely participated in foreplay. After months of being at sea, it was not enough to simply taste her, no—Davos needed to feel his wife and to be inside her at last.

His tentative kisses just below the hair around her cunt garnered him no response from the red priestess. At first Melisandre seemed only interested in revelling in her power over Davos; having him sink to his knees and kiss her aching sex like a lover, but after the pleasure of his humiliation washed away, she desired more. She thrust her hips at his face and he recoiled, sitting back.

  
“Can’t we just--…”

  
“…please.” This time that word carried no more despair, but rather her wicked desire. Her eyes flashed blood red in the light of the candles on the table beside her bed, and when she blinked the flames flickered threateningly. He had felt the pain of her fires too much for one lifetime that night, and abhorred the notion of relinquishing that insufferable heat. As long as he pleased her, Melisandre’s charms did not melt him quite so much, though the warmth that radiated from her cunt made his tongue burn as though eating something fresh from the oven. But he could not deny her taste was addictive; something between his favourite summer wine and a rich Arbour gold—he could not decide. When again Melisandre rutted forward, he answered her request and plunged his tongue deep inside her hot sex, devouring her desire and collecting her wetness in his beard.

The sound the red woman made could not have been human, for Davos had never heard his wife moan so deep in her throat. Melisandre’s head fell back, and she ran a hand up over her breast, resting it there. The other hand snaked down her thigh and caressed Davos’s cheek before finding the back of his neck and pulling him so close his nose was crushed against the coarse red hair. It tickled his nostrils and filled his entire being with her smell. She was so incredibly hot, that if it were possible _that_ would be her smell. She smelled hot and glorious and rich. One of her slender, pale legs lifted off the floor and she slung it languidly over Davos’s left shoulder. He slipped his arm beneath it and caressed her hip bone with his stunted fingers, working them in time with his tongue and holding back her skirts from cascading down over his face. He wanted her to see him; to see what he was doing and how he had the control over her pleasure.

When Davos let his teeth into play, he took her pearl of pent-up pleasure and sucked hard. Melisandre screamed in ecstasy, and her knee caught his ear when she stretched out her leg involuntarily. It was a sign to the onion knight, a reminder that whatever he did she would respond accordingly, and though he loathed admitting—he _relished_ in it.

What he couldn’t control was the way his own body expressed its pleasure; his cock was throbbing as hard as he’d ever known, twitching every time her one foot still remaining on the floor moved close. Using his shortened hand as leverage to keep her cunt close, Davos moved his other hand down and worked himself hard. He let a moan escape his lips and vibrate against her sex, which only caused her hips to convulse more. His tongue was desperately reaching for something deep inside her, and Melisandre seemed to be trying to help him; thrusting her hips and looking down at him.

  
“Yes, Davos—yes!” One hand steadied her on the bed, the other pushed so hard against the back of his head he thought he might suffocate against her cunt. _Killed by her cunt—how ironic, smuggler. Remember why you’re here_. But Davos was beginning to forget everything except the taste of her, and his unrelenting need to sheathe himself within her wetness. Melisandre rocked forward and the two of them shifted their weight, which caused Davos to groan again; this time he took his face away and a thin trail of her come lingered between his lips and her entrance. He lapped it up and she forced him back to licking at her vehemently. Some part of him wanted to finish Melisandre with his mouth and leave her room, but the other part, the _stronger_ part didn’t want the night to ever end. He ran his thumb over the tip of his erection and bit back a cry, trying to maintain his tenuous grip on controlling the situation.

  
“More, Lord Davos.” Her command was shrouded by her heavy breathing, but he could sense it in her tone and the look in her eyes when he gazed upon her. He increased the speed of his ministrations, but she only lolled her head back and demanded more again. He couldn’t hold back much more; he’d choke on the taste of her if he persisted with his tongue alone for much longer. Begrudging, he took his hand from his cock and ran it up her thigh.

  
“Yes…” She hissed, much as she had done in his ear earlier, and bit her lip to stifle a cry when at last he slipped a finger inside her heat. His thumb rolled over her pearl, and when he pressed it just right—oh the look of her! Davos revelled in cutting her loose with just a touch; her face turned as red as her- everything, and her eyes rolled back in her skull. Melisandre grabbed a fistful of the silk sheets and tried desperately to hold on to the remains of her desire. Davos licked his lips as he worked another finger inside her, caressing her thigh with his shortened fingers. Had he any nails on that hand, he’d be digging them in so hard she was like to bleed, but instead he was gentle and loving. _No, not loving smuggler; you do not love this red witch_. He kissed the inside of her knee, still slung over his shoulder and continued the feather-light kisses up her thigh until he reached his slick fingers. Tasting her wetness on his own skin was not the same as savouring it from her heat, and after a minute of pumping hard inside her, he replaced his hand with his tongue once more.

She came hard and unexpected, or so her face suggested, dripping her warm wetness down his chin. But Davos was sure not to allow any to touch the floor. It was too precious to waste, and he relished in the taste—smooth and salty; the calm waters a sailor could only dream of. Melisandre let out a strangled cry and whimpered, falling back onto the bed. Davos stood on shaky legs and wiped his mouth with the back of his stunted hand.

  
“There,” He said, spitting the words at her with a cutting spite he didn’t know he could muster. “It is done and my son is saved.” Before Davos could turn and make for the door, Melisandre sat up and grabbed his wrist. For a woman who had just been writhing in the waves of her pleasure, she looked all at once fresh and renewed.

  
“Not quite, Lord Davos,” She said, smiling and eyeing his still very hard member. Her mouth remained open just a fraction, teasing him and urging him to turn back towards her. “First we must remove my dress.” Davos did not need to be asked twice. He moved her back onto the bed, eyes fixated on hers and placed his hands on her hips, using her for leverage as he mounted the bed and knelt before her. She smiled and gazed at him beneath her red lashes and ran her hands up and down his strong, muscled arms. She sat perfectly straight and still as he worked the scarlet garment over her head.

  
“Melisandre.” Her name escaped his thoughts and his wishes and lips before he could stop them—for the red priestess was a truly beautiful sight to behold. 


	5. Ribbons of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos loses the battle against the red priestess, but who is the true casualty?

When Melisandre kissed Davos, he could taste renewed desire on her red lips; a sweet, tantalising flavour that made his head pound and ears ring. She seemed to have forgotten where his mouth had been just moments before, or perhaps she didn’t care, but Melisandre’s kisses were crushing and unrelenting. Her tongue forced its way passed his lips and collided with his own before he could catch his breath, and what had been a sweet caressing of Davos’s bearded cheeks had grown into a fierce tugging, pulling him down on top of her. _Don’t let her win, smuggler. This is your game and your rules._ Davos pulled back, snaking an arm around the red woman’s waist and lifting her up from the silk crimson sheets. With his other hand planted firmly on the mattress, Davos was beginning to struggle in keeping upright. His fingers on her back found the ends of her red hair, and Davos pulled hard, breaking the kiss and revealing Melisandre’s milky white neck. Her eyes rolled back when he clamped his teeth insufferably hard into her flesh, sucking hard until the skin bruised and Melisandre whimpered. But as soon as Davos thought he had control, Melisandre dropped her hand between her legs and found his stiff cock, tugging in such a way that Davos could not possibly enjoy the sensation. She was rough and unkind, and when he lifted his head from her neck to push her off, he found himself drawn into her captivating stare. Her eyes were harsh and blood red; her upper lip turned up in a snarl for half a heartbeat before her hand softened and Davos could not help but allow his eyes to flutter shut.

As soon as Davos released Melisandre’s hair, she lifted her head and kissed softly along his jaw, like a lover might. _No! She is not your lover! Damn you smuggler, you’re becoming hers!_ Davos could barely hear himself think over the sound of his heart racing, and when Melisandre pressed herself against him, breasts squashed against his chest, he thought he might explode. The heat that had nearly killed him was fast returning; he was already beginning to melt. The silk sheets clung to his damp arms and knees, and when Melisandre fell back against the bed once more, she peeled off him like paper. Davos hovered over the red priestess and planted a small kiss on her lips, but she burned his mouth and he recoiled, sitting back on his heels.

  
“Something is wrong.” He said; surprised at how coarse and rough his voice now sounded. Melisandre looked at him and bit her lip. The candles around her swirled suddenly and reflected unnaturally bright in her eyes. It was only then that Davos noticed how sweaty he was, and how sweaty Melisandre was not. _Why won’t she just burn?_ “Melisandre, something is wrong.”

  
“Yes,” She spoke so suddenly Davos almost jumped. _Do not show any more weakness, smuggler. No more than you already have_. “You are not inside me.” Melisandre lifted up her knees and drew the onion knight’s eyes to her cunt. She was wet, though Davos could not say whether that was his doing, or her own.   
“I cannot do this,” Davos frowned, at himself and at the sight before him. The words barely escaped his lips; the heat around him was so violent it was choking.

“I have a w-…”

  
“Your wife will not thank you for letting Devan die, Lord Davos. The night is dark and full of terrors. Let me show you the light.” When she spoke, the ruby at her throat pulsated and his cock twitched at the sight. Davos grasped his throat and spluttered. _She’s killing you now, smuggler. You’re going to die in her bed and without honour. You should be ashamed._ Melisandre smiled when he lurched forward and almost collapsed on top of her, fighting for breath. His lungs were burning and his throat was on fire, closing in and preventing him from swallowing the hot air that surrounded him. _Is this what burning alive feels like?_ Melisandre wormed a thigh around his waist and held him in a vicelike grip. His cock was already probing at her entrance, as though it had a mind of its own and was desperate to fill her. _Resist, smuggler! Die with some dignity at least!_ Shortened fingers desperately tried to grab a fistful of the sheets with which to haul himself onto his back, but he was failing. The world was closing in and the room was turning black—as black as it had when Devan had appeared. Davos thought his skin was alight, and when Melisandre ran her hands down his back it seemed to cut fine, deep slices of his skin; flaying him alive. The exposed flesh then burst into flames and bubbled into a thousand blisters until he finally cried out in unbearable pain, inches from the red woman’s face. She pressed her lips against his and spoke in a gentle whisper.   
“Take me, Lord Davos; tonight we shall save your son.”

  
“I-I ca- can’t br-…”

  
“Fuck me now—oh…oh!” Davos let out a strangled scream and sheathed himself within her in once swift motion, collapsing onto his elbows and trying to ignore the heat that singed the hairs on his chest when Melisandre’s breasts met his skin once more.

Cool air flooded Davos’s lungs and ripped through him like a wave in a storm. His mind flickered back to the sound of the raging storm outside the window, battering Dragonstone with unrelenting force. Inside, he was facing a battle of his own. Slowly his strength returned, but Melisandre still had her leg pulling him down on top of her, never once allowing his skin to breathe and recover for a single moment. They lay still and connected for a minute, panting and regaining their senses.   
“Take me, Lord Davos.” Her voice echoed through the room and reverberated off the walls, repeatedly hitting him with their increasing lust. Davos moved slowly at first, pressing his hips against hers and resting his forehead on her shoulder. _Don’t let her see the pain in your eyes, smuggler._ Melisandre’s breath caught in her throat and she clawed impatiently down his back, reopening the blistered slits in his skin. Davos meant to cry out in pain, but as he did so the red priestess rolled her hips forward simultaneously and it was all he could do not to moan in her ear. Her fingers traced the scars of his back once more, until Davos lifted up with renewed strength and swiftly pinned her wrists above her head, staring into her burning eyes.

  
“I’m not doing this for your pleasure, witch. This is for my son.” His words seemed to have no effect on Melisandre, who moaned against his lips when he moved harder insider, grinding his hips into hers vehemently.

  
“Don’t you see, Lord Davos? Saving Devan pleases me—oh! It pleases me greatly!” Davos wondered if it was the thought of rescuing Devan that _did_ truly bring happiness to the woman, or if it was he himself performing such a duty to save his boy, by fucking her relentlessly. Davos took a fistful of her hair in his good hand and let it slip through his fingers, much like his control. _Red and dead, smuggler—that’s how she’d like you_. Her crimson locks had spread around and framed her head like ribbons of blood flowed from a gash in her back of her skull, and for a moment Davos allowed himself to imagine that was the case. She would never let him forget this night—he’d never forget this night.

With his back stinging and blood trickling down to his buttocks, Davos knew he was going to die. _Only death can pay for life, is that it?_ Davos could have wept, but Melisandre had burned all the fluid from his body and instead he was dry and brittle and exhausted.

  
“Yes…” The word fell against his lips from her mouth when she kissed him, gently at first and then with increasing desperation when their bodies began crashing against each other more violently. Davos ran his stunted hand up her waist and began kneading one of her ample breasts, relishing in the feel of her nipple stiffening against his palm. He brought his head down and took it in his mouth, slowing his pace a little and allowing Melisandre to meet his rhythm. She liked that, and as he gently bit down on her nipple, her sex seized around him and he thought she was done.

  
“Kiss me, Lord Davos.” He did not need to be asked twice. The mouths met more passionately this time, and their tongues entwined like vines. She was impossibly hot, but not burning him as she had before. Her leg slacked and dropped down to the back of his knees, her heel settling comfortably in the crease. Davos knew she had snatched the last of his control—he should have denied her the kiss, but why deny something he himself longed for?  He could even sense Melisandre beginning to take control of their pace. She rolled her hips impatiently against his, urging him on faster with an encouraging nudge.

Melisandre was closing in around him, and Davos could feel his own release gathering like a fireball in his groin. Yet her faced seemed to have changed to a sort of strangled pain, and her moans were catching painfully in her throat. When he went to bring them to a stop, Melisandre forced him on even faster, thrusting upwards. It was only when he filled her entirely, sheathing himself to the hilt that everything changed. His release erupted suddenly, pumping his seed within the red priestess. _You fool! You foolish man—you’ll impregnate the red witch; how will you explain that to your_ wife _?_ Davos let out a strangled cry of pleasure and Melisandre shivered around him. And so did the room. He looked up and fire encased them, licking at the silk sheets of the bed. Melisandre was there in body but gone in spirit, murmuring in her mother tongue something he could not translate. They were facing the hearth, _had we been facing this way before?_ Melisandre lifted her arms above her head and seemed to be reaching for her flames. The candles around them were bending towards her, trying to touch her bare skin. The hearth was roaring and twisting around itself, listening to its mother’s words. It seemed like hours before the flamed from the hearth and Melisandre’s right hand met and as soon as they did so the whole castle seemed to explode. Davos was thrown backwards and everything turned white. 


	6. He Knows Where I Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos wakes with only fragments of what had happened the night before. Melisandre assures him that Devan will be saved, but who will save Davos from Stannis?

Davos woke from a fevered dream, tangled in the silken sheets. For half a second he thought he’d bled out until he remembered where he was. His thighs ached with a sweet pain he had forgotten his body could ever tolerate—Marya had never left him so beautifully sore. Stunted fingers searched along the bed for the red priestess, but she was gone. Davos sat up rather too quickly and his head hummed as though he’d sipped heavily on milk of the poppy before he’d fallen asleep. But Davos knew that wasn’t the case, for he’d dreamed vividly after the white light had enveloped him. At first he’d seen Cape Wrath, and his little home by the coast. Marya was pulling vegetables from the turfed soil, and their son Stannis was collecting them from his mother and dropping them into a wicker basket. Davos dismounted from a palfrey mare and ran to embrace his humble wife, running two good hands through her hair.

  
“Davos, where have you been?” Marya kissed him gently, but her eyes were unsmiling.

  
“At sea, my love—I’m back now.” Tossing her basket from her hands, Davos dragged his wife into their home and to their chambers.

Clothes were removed quickly, and Marya was a welcome sight to his tired eyes. But as she pulled his shirt over his head, Davos winced.

  
“Davos? What is it?” The shirt was striped white and red—blood-stained and seeping. Marya moved around her husband and the sound she made frightened him. “My gods! Your back; its covered blisters!” When the words fell from her lips, the world changed and Davos was in the King’s chambers, alone and cold. He could hear Melisandre’s voice, and see her shadow dancing across the walls, wrestling against the shadow of another until the whole room went black and Davos awoke.

Stretching, Davos ran his good hand over his shoulder blades, but he could feel nothing. There was no pain, and he could feel no dampness from drying blood. _Has this all been a dream? Did she even meet me last night?_ But she must have, for Davos was most definitely in the red woman’s bed. When he sat up fully, Melisandre fell into view. She was perched on the windowsill, the drapes thrown back allowing light to cascade through the window and wash her in natural light. It was strange, when her fires were dead; Melisandre looked out of place in daylight. _Daylight; someone will notice you are amiss._ Davos climbed from the bed and steadied himself on the bedpost. It was then that Melisandre noticed he was awake.

  
“Good morrow, Lord Davos.” Her voice was smooth and warm. When she smiled it felt real and kind. Davos attempted to return the favour, his memory still hazy from the night’s events.

  
“Is it done?” He asked, pulling on his breeches that still felt slightly damp with perspiration. Davos remembered being warm, but could not place exactly how hot he had become. “Is Devan safe now, Melisandre?”

  
“No.” The word hit him like a tonne of bricks, sending him reeling against the bed, trying to button up his shirt.   
“No?! But you said he would be safe if we did this! You promised!”

  
“I did no such thing,” Melisandre purred, lifting herself off the windowsill and allowing her ruby satin shift to open slightly, revealing one pert breast. Davos shifted in his breeches and swallowed hard, ignoring the sudden revelation and concentrating on her demonic eyes. “Your boy is not saved, because he is in no danger—yet.”

  
“And when he is, how will you save him?”

  
“I will not, but we shall.” She smiled and ran a hand over her stomach lovingly. _You spilled your seed in this woman, smuggler. Your honour will be forever tarnished._ The remembrance of this fact left a bitter taste in the onion knight’s mouth. Davos finished dressing and headed for the door, refusing to look at the red woman in her skimpy robes. Melisandre had poured herself a cup of Dornish red, and when her teeth clashed softly against the silver rim, he was reminded of another moment of the evening’s events. _That hearth is her cauldron—the witch possessed you with her fires, smuggler._

 __  
“I must leave before Stannis notices my absence.”

  
“He is more likely to feel mine, Lord Davos.” Melisandre’s voice oozed a mocking tone that made his blood boil. In that moment, another reminder flashed through his memory. _She boiled you from the inside out, and you fucked her for release because you are weak._ Never before had Davos felt so ashamed and hated by his own mind. He didn’t even grace Melisandre with a reply, and left her room.

The cold, damp air of the hallway hit him suddenly, but it was utterly welcome. Davos’s skin prickled a little and absorbed the biting chill. He took a deep breath and relaxed against the wooden door frame, only to find it as hot as the woman within. He grunted in distaste and headed for the hall to eat.

  
“Lord Davos! The king is without and requires your presence immediately!” _Thank the gods._ Davos was startled by the high-pitched voice of one of the serving boys, but nodded and followed after him towards the council room.

When the door was pulled open and the onion knight walked in, all eyes flashed at him, looking him up and down. Stannis grinded his teeth, his own way of saying good morrow, and returned to looking at his intricately designed table map.

  
“You’re late, Lord Davos.” He scolded, pressing a finger along the river of the Trident. A Florent guard stepped forward and smiled.

  
“Where have you been, Lord Davos?” He said, clapping him on the shoulder. “For the love of R’hllor—you’re boiling!” With that statement, Stannis looked up suddenly, glaring in what could have passed for shock. _He knows,_ Davos thought, swallowing. _He knows where I have been_.  


End file.
